


The Way He Looks

by b_ofdale



Category: Beauty and the Beast (2017)
Genre: Early Days, First Kiss, Gaston can't do ~feelings~, Gaston loves LeFou's hair, M/M, Pre-War, he's just bad at showing it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-20
Updated: 2017-04-20
Packaged: 2018-10-21 08:27:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10681515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/b_ofdale/pseuds/b_ofdale
Summary: Tentatively, LeFou risked looking up at him again. Gaston was looking out the window now, certainly dreaming of his next, successful hunt in the vast plains of the land. These were perhaps LeFou’s favourite moments; when they stopped to make camp in the forest or under the stars—and when they found peace here, at home, and he could watch Gaston bathe in the sunlight.





	The Way He Looks

**Author's Note:**

> I said I'd write something with them as kids/teenagers, so there you go!  
> They're kids in the first part, around 15 in the second part, and around 17 in the third part.
> 
> HUGE THANKS to [Liz](http://gastonsbiceps.tumblr.com) who kindly edited this thing! :D

“Why are you crying?” 

LeFou started, his eyes widening as he clutched his hands towards his chest. To his utter surprise, it was Gaston who appeared in the threshold of the barn’s entrance. Wearing a simple white shirt along with a waistcoat, and with his hair tied back into a messy ponytail, he still somehow managed to look like an angel sent from Heaven. 

Quickly, LeFou wiped away the tears off of his cheeks, while trying to manage a smile. However, the smile fell from his face before it could even reach his eyes, and instead, he choked out another sob. He wished for anything in the world, that out of the whole village, Gaston hadn’t been the one to find him hiding out in the barn, crying his eyes out.

Taking a deep breath, LeFou tried again; he forced a smile, and glanced up at Gaston. Unfortunately he’d never been a very good actor.

“Wh—what are you doing here?” he asked, sniffing. 

“I heard your bonne-maman talk with the headmaster,” Gaston merely said. 

LeFou winced. “What were they saying?” 

“I don’t know. But she was mad,” Gaston answered with a shrug. He took the last remaining steps that were separating them, and sat on the ground. “I knew I’d find you here.” 

LeFou couldn’t help but blush; knowing that Gaston cared enough to go look for him filled him with joy and relief—he only wished he wasn’t feeling so miserable. Gaston deserved a braver friend than him. 

“So, what happened?”

“Nothing.” LeFou shrugged back. “You know—” he trailed off, tearing his eyes away from his lap to look at Gaston. He tried his best not to show that there had been more going on than usual. He hoped Gaston would never see the bruises decorating his stomach, as well as his swollen ankle. 

His gaze then fell on Gaston’s hands. LeFou’s brows furrowed at the sight; his skin was scratched and red with blood, but Gaston didn’t seem to mind. 

“What happened _to you?”_

“Nothing,” Gaston repeated, wiping off the blood on his pants. He gave LeFou a wolfish smile. “I’m alright. And now, you’ll be as well.” 

LeFou gaped at Gaston; he must have known what had happened earlier, then. LeFou let out a shaky breath. He had never quite understood why Gaston always defended him when he didn’t have to. He’d never hurt anyone before, though—and LeFou had never wanted him to. 

But, right now, he couldn’t help but be grateful. 

“Thank you, Gaston,” LeFou said, quietly.

Gaston beamed. “It’s alright,” he replied. “That’s what heroes do!”

Despite himself, LeFou started crying again. He looked away from Gaston, and tried to find something to stare at so he wouldn’t have to look at his friend in the eye. His body, as much as his heart, hurt. And Gaston being there meant a lot to him, yet he didn’t know what to do with all of these strange, opposite feelings. 

Sometimes, he thought he didn’t deserve to be Gaston’s friend—but if Gaston chose to spend time with him and help him, it meant that Gaston didn’t think the same, right? 

“Come on, stop crying,” he heard Gaston say, and that was enough to make LeFou wipe his cheeks once more and try to clear his vision. 

“I’m sorry I’m so weak,” LeFou murmured. He bit his bottom lip, and felt his eyes fill themselves with tears yet again. 

Gaston frowned. “You’re not weak, LeFou!” he exclaimed, taking LeFou’s hands in his. LeFou felt himself blush even harder—God, boys weren’t supposed to do that, were they? “You didn’t forget that time you stood up to the headmaster, did you?”

LeFou shook his head. 

“And when—when you lied to my parents so I wouldn’t get grounded?”

LeFou shook his head again. 

“That was very brave,” Gaston added with a nod. “And when you pushed me out of the way of that horse, remember? Even more so.”

LeFou found himself grinning. He gave one last shake of his head. 

LeFou looked back at Gaston. The look on Gaston’s face seemed dead serious. 

“See?” he said, letting go of LeFou’s hands to press two fingers against LeFou’s chest. _“Not. Weak.”_

  


~•§•~  


“You must miss your grandma.”

It was Gaston who had broken the silence. They sat in LeFou’s room, both of them on his bed. While LeFou stitched up the sleeve of a shirt, Gaston had been absently reading _Macbeth_ , until most of his concentration had shifted to whatever he’d decided to carve into the wood of the bed frame. 

“It’s alright,” LeFou lied. It’d been two weeks now since the funeral, and bonne-maman’s death still hurt him more than he let on, but he wasn’t about to let Gaston see. “I knew it was going to happen.” 

Gaston merely hummed, still not looking up from the wood. Anyone would have thought he’d asked for the sake of asking, but LeFou knew him well enough to tell that he hadn’t. Despite whatever Gaston might say, he’d been close to LeFou’s grandma, too. He’d always been welcomed into her home as if it were his own. Perhaps, that was why he’d asked at all. 

LeFou put the shirt, thread and needle aside. He let his eyes trail over Gaston, the setting sun shining kindly over him. His hair, untied, fell over his shoulders. The sight was almost a holy one; there really was no one as beautiful as Gaston, and in those moments, LeFou could do nothing but feel lucky to be allowed so close. 

Gaston glanced up at him then, brows furrowed. 

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

 _Like what,_ LeFou stopped himself from asking. Instead, he said, “You—you should wear your hair like that more often.”

Gaston snorted. “Mother wouldn’t let me get past the door, in or out. She hates it.”

“I think it suits you. Bonne-maman said it often, too.” 

“It’s not bad when I stay home, you’re right,” Gaston admitted, flashing a grin to the mirror hanging on the wall opposite him, then to LeFou. “Too bad it’s not practical. But thanks, LeFou.”

LeFou beamed, glad he could put a smile on Gaston’s face. He went back to his shirt, Gaston went back to carving, but the silence didn’t stretch for long. 

Without warning, Gaston sat up straight, crossing his legs under him. 

“Untie your hair,” he said. 

LeFou raised both curious eyebrows at him, but he did as he was told. He’d sometimes gone out with his hair untied—it wasn’t anything unusual, but then, Gaston never seemed to pay much attention to these things. LeFou’s breath caught in his throat when he realized that if Gaston asked now, it meant that he _was_ going to, this time.

LeFou’s hair was as long as Gaston’s, perhaps a tad shorter. Placing the ribbon onto his lap with one hand, while tucking a lock of hair behind his hair with the other, he waited for Gaston’s opinion. He didn’t expect much of it; he knew he wasn’t anything like Gaston, and yet—

“Not bad.”

LeFou blinked. “What, rea—you really think so?”

Gaston shrugged, and he leaned back against the wall. “Yeah, you look—” He waved his hand as though searching for the right words. “Yeah,” he ended up repeating, letting his hand fall onto his knee as a small smile grazed his lips. 

LeFou bit his own lip. Surely, he was already beet red. Gaston didn’t compliment anyone but himself—except LeFou. In his own way. Not often, but he did, and never did LeFou take it for granted. Gaston’s support, as _Gaston_ as it was, was the base he’d stepped on to be where he was now.

He murmured a “thank you”, his eyes glancing at the space between them. He didn’t dare to look at Gaston anymore, afraid of what he would see, but who was he to think that he could resist long enough for the beating of his heart to slow down? 

Tentatively, LeFou risked looking up at him again. Gaston was looking out the window now, certainly dreaming of his next, successful hunt in the vast plains of the land. These were perhaps LeFou’s favourite moments; when they stopped to make camp in the forest or under the stars—and when they found peace here, at home, and he could watch Gaston bathe in the sunlight. 

_I love him,_ he thought. He’d known that for a long time, but having these words trail his thoughts, one by one, never failed to fill his chest with warmth. _I’d do anything for him. I’d follow him to the ends of the Earth._

LeFou twirled the ribbon in his hands. He wished he could tell him. He wished for it every single day. But could he really risk everything they had built together over… _feelings?_ He already shared more with Gaston than any girl, than _anyone_ could claim having. Wasn’t that enough?

With a sigh, LeFou started gathering his hair, raising the ribbon to tie it into a ponytail again. 

Out of nowhere, Gaston’s hand caught his wrist. 

“Don’t,” he said. Legs folded under him, a hand between them where there had been only empty space just a few seconds ago. Gaston’s grip was firm, but surprisingly gentle. 

LeFou stared at him, wide-eyed. He let go of his hair, and let his arm relax under Gaston’s grasp. Slowly, Gaston lowered their hands down. 

The next thing LeFou knew, their faces were so close he could feel Gaston’s breath mixing with his. Gaston’s hand was still holding LeFou’s wrist, but the other had found his hair. He almost forgot how to breathe, and then—

A kiss.

A dream?

At least, it was gone just as quickly as one; strong and vivid one moment, and gone the next.

They were silent for a few seconds, eyes wide and confused as they realised what had just occurred. Until Gaston suddenly blurted out, “This never happened.”

Then, just like the kiss, he was gone; only followed by the sound of the door slamming shut behind him, and LeFou’s sharp, shaky intake of breath.

  


~•§•~  


“Is that really what you want?” LeFou’s voice broke in the middle of his sentence. “Everyone admires you. Isn’t that enough?”

Gaston, walking towards his house, barely spared LeFou a glance. 

Saving the village from the marauders a few months ago had already provoked changes in Gaston; he was more vain, less patient, and more easy to anger—what would an actual war do to him? 

LeFou had never been more worried about him; Hell, he hadn’t thought men from the army would ever come to Villeneuve to recruit and make his past worries seem far too small in comparison to what could lie ahead. 

“I want to be a hero, LeFou,” Gaston eventually said, snapping LeFou out of his thoughts and puffing out his chest. He made a grand gesture of his hand. “I want to help save the country and come home victorious.”

“You could get killed,” LeFou pleaded. 

Gaston scoffed. “No,” he said as he stopped before the low wall in front of the house, turning on his heels to look at LeFou. “I’m _Gaston.”_

LeFou gritted his teeth. A fool, an idiot! 

“You’re just as mortal as I am, Gaston,” he protested. He watched, helpless, as Gaston sat on the low wall and heaved out a heavy, satisfied sigh. “Are you even listening to me?”

“I am, I am,” Gaston replied, raising an eyebrow at him. “You worry too much.” 

Surprised by his own calm state, LeFou walked up to Gaston. 

“I know you can take care of yourself,” he said, “but this is _war._ I—I just don’t want to lose you, too.”

Gaston pursed his lips, his look turning into a glare. “Stop it, LeFou. I won’t go back on my decision,” he said. He put his hand flat against LeFou’s chest, and made him take one step backwards. LeFou hadn’t even realized he’d been so close. “I’ll be fine.”

LeFou let out a sigh of his own. Of course, there was nothing he could say that would make Gaston change his mind. He slowly nodded, holding his hands against his chest and squeezing them tight. Now was not the time to cry. 

“If you won’t listen to me, then—” LeFou said, slowly. “Then I’ll go with you.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because _you_ will get yourself killed,” Gaston snapped, hands clenching into fists over his lap. Gaston’s voice was sharp, but if there was one thing LeFou hadn’t expected, it was the flash of fear in his eyes as he spoke these words. “I’ll miss you, alright? But you shouldn’t come.”

“Wherever you go, I go.” 

“Not this time.” 

A part of LeFou wanted to be hurt by Gaston’s rejection. Yet, the genuine concern behind it was all he found himself caring about. His shoulders slumped, and he pretended to be defeated. 

LeFou knew his place wasn’t in the war—but he also knew that his place was by Gaston’s side. 

 

The next day, LeFou did the last thing he’d ever expected to do in his life. 

He was walking back home when Gaston grabbed his arm and lead him away from prying eyes. He cornered him against the wall, slamming the palm of his hand against the stone, the other snatching the paper from LeFou’s hand. 

“How could you do that?” he snarled. “I told you you couldn’t come!”

Though his heart beat painfully fast, LeFou didn’t move an inch. He held Gaston’s glare as best he could, and said with as much conviction as he could manage, “I can’t let you go alone.”

Gaston’s breath was quick and warm, his expression barely readable; no more than a mess of confusion and conflicted feelings. 

“I need you,” LeFou added in a breath, tears gathering in his eyes. “And I believe you need me, too.”

Whatever Gaston meant to say was lost in his throat. 

In that moment, it felt as though they were in Gaston’s room that quiet evening of summer, all over again. Nowhere to look but into each other’s eyes, sharing breaths and lost to the rest of the world. They’d never spoken of it. LeFou had only been thankful nothing had changed between them after it had happened. 

There was no kiss this time. But as Gaston’s body lost all tension, he bent slightly, let his head fall over LeFou’s shoulder, and LeFou could do nothing but to wrap his arms around him. 

Right now, that was what they both needed. 

Right now, that was enough.

**Author's Note:**

>  **Check out[the beautiful art](https://thecheesecracker.tumblr.com/post/161192530438/im-sure-the-fandom-is-already-aware-of-the) thecheesecracker made for this fic!! ;w;**  
>     
>  _Bonne-maman_ is French for granny/grandma. :)
> 
> (I chose the title last minute as usual, so it might not fit, but oh well)
> 
> This fic probably isn't historically accurate, but it's fanfiction, so...? I think Gaston could be like, 28 in the movies or something? or in his early thirties. so he would have left for, let's say, the Seven Years' War, when he was 17-18, and only came back seven years later, when he was 25. I don't know that's just my headcanon, I might be wrong and I probably am, but it will have to do for this fic :p 
> 
> Thank you for reading! I hope you liked it--if so, please press the Kudos button!! :D (but nothing makes me happier than comments, no matter how short! ;w;)
> 
> Find me on Tumblr [here](http://barduil.tumblr.com) and [here](http://barduil.tumblr.com/post/159827393003/the-way-he-looks-gastonlefou-early-days)'s the aesthetic if you wish to share it!


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